


What Brothers Are For

by Cdelphiki



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Bruce Wayne Being an Asshole, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Failed Mission, Gen, He's just overreacting, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Damian Wayne, Sickfic, do not copy to another site, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 09:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: Tim Drake doesn't often fail missions, but when he does, it's spectacularly.  Between missing vital information on his drug bust and showing up with a horrible head cold, Tim dug himself in pretty deep.  So when Jason has to rescue him, Bruce kind of loses it.  At least Damian is there to smooth it all over.  Or try, at least.





	What Brothers Are For

Tim had no idea how it happened.

He thought he’d been thorough. He’d checked and double checked his intel. His research was sound. His leads solid.

There weren’t supposed to be this many men.

It was just a low-level drug dealer. He only had five paid henchmen.

_Five._

Why were there at least thirty men in this warehouse?

And why hadn’t Red Robin noticed them all before he engaged with the leader?

“You’re outnumbered, kid,” one of the thugs sneered, and Tim couldn’t help but grin as he continued fighting the group of men surrounding him as hard as he could.

Because, yep. He was so fucking toast.

His head really hurt, too. Maybe that little cold he was ignoring was worse than he had originally thought. His head felt about fifteen times its actual size with all the pressure pent up in his sinuses.

The blows to the head he kept sustaining were not helping one bit.

And he could hardly breathe through his nose, and it had been that way before it started bleeding when henchman #3532 elbowed him. The bleeding just gave him an excuse to tell Alfred when he inevitably had to own up to his injuries.

Yeah, and _maybe_ his throat was a little sore.

A lot sore.

Whatever.

He shouldn’t have gone out tonight at all.

_But there shouldn’t be this many men._

“What makes you say that?” Tim asked, his voice not at all betraying the exhaustion he already felt as he swung his Bo staff, knocking to the ground two more thugs as three more assaulted him. Tonight was gonna suck. So much.

Someone behind him got a good punch into his back, and another person kicked at his feet, the combined effort nearly toppling him to the ground. If that happened, it would all be over. Too many of them.

Red Robin pulled his grapple and shot it up into the rafters, quickly pulling himself away from the onslaught of men.

 _Why hadn’t they used guns yet?_ Tim thought idly as he ran along a beam to find better cover. He really, really needed to stall.

His head throbbed again as he lost his footing.

“Shit,” he panted, reaching out quickly to catch himself from falling. The men below were taunting.

 _But not shooting,_ he thought again.

He was missing something. Something big.

Fuck his head hurt.

Maybe if he just climbed up one more level, up onto the main rafter he could sit for a second and get his bearings.

Yeah. Good idea.

Shooting his grapple up to the large support beam just above him, Tim quickly pulled himself up and sat down hard, sure to keep his body completely hidden from the men below.

His head was killing him. His ears were clogged, and it was started to affect his balance. Alfred was going to have so many words for him. Maybe he could hide out at his apartment for a few days. Sleep this off, avoid the family in general until he was better.

That. That was probably the best idea he had all day.

Except there was still the issue of all those goons down below, yelling up at him, taunting him. There weren’t any skylights in this warehouse, no way to slip out without confronting them again.

Which, unfortunately, meant he had to call in for backup.

Fortunately, though, just as Tim was bringing his hand up to tap his comm, he heard the faint sound of gunshots from outside. And while yeah, that actually should disturb him, he could also hear Red Hood’s modulated voice accompanying the shots, so he figured he had a 84% chance that it was friendly fire.

Even if it wasn’t friendly fire, Jason wouldn’t shoot Tim. He’d probably help him get away, at least.

But yeah, it was probably friendly. Jason wasn’t really doing the crime-boss thing anymore.

Although his involvement in this would explain the extra henchmen Tim wasn’t expecting. Maybe Jason was…?

Tim’s thoughts were interrupted by one of the thugs below him harshly whispering, “Fuck, what’s the Red Hood doing here?” before chaos erupted. Red Robin hiding in the rafters was completely forgotten as the men bolted, trying their best to make for the exit before Jason came strolling in.

Unfortunately for them, Jason came strutting through the only entrance, and that’s really when all hell broke loose.

Whatever kept the thugs from shooting Tim clearly didn’t apply to Jason, because suddenly the entire warehouse was filled with the sound of gunfire, and the noise was just echoing inside Tim’s stuffed up ears. He felt slightly dizzy and completely disoriented by it all, and knew right from the second he stood to jump down into the fight that he was an idiot.

 _“Don’t you dare,”_ Hood snapped, his voice echoing into Tim’s coms, “ _sit your ass back down, Red_.” How Jason had even known Tim was about to grapple down, he wasn’t sure. How he noticed Tim stand with everything going on down there. All the men with guns shooting. He couldn’t even keep track of it all. Actually, his vision was a little shaky.

Did the air always feel so light? It’s like his head could cut right through it. Weird.

Tim put a hand on his head and shut his eyes, trying to steady himself. He needed… he needed some sudafed. Yeah. That’d fix this. Some sudafed, and he’d be good to keep patrolling.

He sat back down, keeping one hand on the support beam beside him for balance and closed his eyes. He really needed to focus. This was so dumb, how a silly little head-cold could get him so bad. He really hadn’t even felt this horrible before coming out.

When Tim opened his eyes again, it was because someone was tapping him on the cheek. He blinked bleary eyes at the figure in front of him, then tried to cough out whatever was tickling his throat so badly.

“Shit, kid,” Red Hood said, placing his hand on Tim’s back as he continued to cough, “the hell are you even doing out tonight?”

“M’fine,” Tim said, sniffling as he finally regained control, “wasn’t this bad when I started.”

“I hope not,” Jason said, shooting his grapple and reaching out to grasp Tim by the waist, “because if Bats sent you out like this, he and I are going to have words.”

Tim shook his head and didn’t even fight Jason’s manhandling, “Haven’t seen B.”

“All night?” Hood asked, just as he jumped off the rafter and toward the ground.

“All week,” Tim corrected, holding his arms out as they landed and Jason let go of him. He was still really dizzy. Geez his ears. He really needed some sudafed.

“You haven’t seen Bats all week,” Jason deadpanned, “isn’t he your dad? Aren’t you like 15?”

“M’seventeen,” Tim mumbled, rubbing at his nose, “m’fine.”

“Right.” Jason motioned for Tim to follow, and started walking toward the warehouse exit, stepping over the unconscious bodies of the thugs. If Tim were more with it, he’d take the time to make sure they were all alive, but this time he’d just have to trust Jason. He had just saved his ass, after all.

“How’d you know to find me?” Tim asked, sniffling pathetically again.

“Been tracking this group for a while. Heard rumors they were laying a trap tonight. When I learned it was for a bat, I figured whichever of you it was would be too damn stubborn to call in backup.”

Tim let out a pout that was definitely not one of Damian’s “tt” sounds, because he was not picking up bad habits from that brat. Definitely not.

“Wasn't’ expecting ya to be delirious from fever, though. How stupid are you?”

“I was about to call for backup when you arrived,” Tim protested, “the cold hit really hard all of a sudden.”

“Mhm, sure,” Jason said, grasping Tim by the forearm when he stumbled a bit at the entrance to the alley Jason had led them to, “can I trust you to hold on tight or do I need to pull out the safety restraint?” he asked as he pulled a helmet out from his bike.

Tim snatched the helmet away and slipped it on over his cowl, “I can hold on,” he said petulantly, “I’m not that bad off.”

“Uh huh,” Jason said as he mounted the bike, “If I feel you slip even a little, I swear to god, Red, I’m stopping and strapping you in.”

Rolling his eyes, Tim hopped on and wrapped his arms around Jason, trying his best to cause a little discomfort in his grasp. With all Jason’s armor, it probably didn’t work, but at least Jason didn’t make good on his threat and drove them straight… to the cave.

Well great.

There went his plan of hiding in his apartment until this blew over.

What’s worse was Batman and Robin were already back from patrol when they pulled in.

“Is everything okay?” Bruce asked as soon as the bike was off, not even giving Tim and Jason time to dismount.

“Peachy,” Jason said sarcastically as he pulled his helmet off, “little brat here just nearly got himself killed. Just another night, right?”

Tim rolled his eyes and pushed his helmet back at Jason, then tried to stalk off to the stairs. Maybe if he could just slip into his room and sleep, no lecture would come.

“What happened?” Bruce demanded, his voice falling dangerously close into his Batman gravel. Tim took a deep breath and paused in his retreat, but then broke into a fit of coughing when his lungs decided they didn’t want to expand entirely.

“That,” Jason said, while Tim tried to recover.

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice squeaked and gave out on the last syllable, just making Tim want to crawl under a rock a die. Losing his voice was not something he wanted right now. He needed his voice to argue.

“You went on patrol sick?” Bruce demanded, just as Damian scoffed amusedly.

“I knew you were stupid,” the pint-sized demon drawled, “but wasn’t aware you were suicidal, Drake.”

“I’m not,” he tried to snap back, but pretty much half whispered as his voice refused to cooperate, “it hit me while out. I was _fine_ earlier.” Only a half lie. He knew he was sick, but it hadn’t been this bad. Usually he could ignore his colds.

“Do you hear yourself, kid?” Jason asked, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the batmobile, keeping his distance from the rest of them but still involving himself in the lecture. Stupid Jason.

“Go change, Tim,” Bruce ordered, dismissing him with a wave of his hand, “and get Alfred to look at your nose.” Bruce then stalked over to Jason, and Tim just knew he was done. Jason would tell Bruce all about everything and he’d be toast. A different kind of toast from what he thought just an hour before, but still toast.

Because Bruce was going to murder him.

With a hand on his head, he slowly walked over toward the showers and resolved himself to taking a very, very long shower. Perhaps the steam would help his lungs some and relieve the pressure in his head.

It didn’t, of course. Just set off his coughing more. Which, actually, probably was a good thing. The coughing part. Even if it was miserable and awful and Tim just wanted to find that rock he was going to crawl under. When he walked back out into the cave, though, much cleaner and wearing pajamas, Jason was gone and Bruce was standing there, glaring at him.

“It hit me suddenly,” he said sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure what else to say. It really _had_ hit him suddenly. Even if he’d known all day he had a cold. Okay for like three days. But it hadn’t been _this_ bad until tonight.

“And this drug ring you were busting?” Bruce asked, his voice cold and hard, “was it sudden?”

“Um,” Tim stammered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “well, yeah kind of I wasn’t expecting so many…” he trailed off, looking down at Bruce’s feet, refusing to meet the thunderous eyes that were now glaring at him.

“Research, Tim,” Bruce boomed, “I thought I taught you better than this. If Jason knew this was an ambush, why didn’t you?”

“I-” Tim tried, but was interrupted.

“All you had to do was ask around, check your contacts in the underground, in the _League_ , and you would have known this deal was a front for a kidnapping attempt on _you.”_

 _“_ The League?” Tim squeaked, a little startled by the revelation. He didn’t know Ra’s was behind this. This was so not his style, hiring common thugs. But then again, he knew something was off about this drug ring from the start. He just hadn’t seen this connection.

It was so outlandish…. Ra’s hadn’t bothered him in months. _Months._ And it was just a drug ring! A regular old drug ring! No ninjas anywhere.

Why would he have even thought to check for a connection?

But that was what he _did._ He considered every possibility.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“I trained you better than this,” Bruce continued, standing up from where he’d had his weight resting back against the desk, “I thought you were better than this.”

“But-” he tried, but of course Bruce wouldn’t let him get a word in.

“You could have gotten yourself killed,” he shouted, stepping closer to Tim so they were less than an arms length apart. It took all of Tim’s strength to not back away, to not cower from Bruce. “You _would_ have gotten yourself killed. Red Hood had to save you, and how many people got seriously injured because you got him involved in this?”

“But, Bruce,” he said, his voice cracking as he did. From the sick, of course, not for any other reason. Nope. Because Tim was perfectly cool. Fine, great. Not close to crying _at all._

“I am very disappointed in you,” Bruce said, lowering his voice to a near whisper, “I expect so much more from you.”

Tim sniffed and rubbed at his nose, wishing even more for that rock. His head still hurt, his ears felt like they would explode if he didn’t relieve some of the pressure, and he knew if he tried to speak again he’d have to cough for a minute before he could get any words out. And on top of all that, he kind of really wanted to bury his face in a pillow.

“Father,” Tim heard Damian say from the level above them, where apparently the stupid brat was enjoying the show, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by Bruce.

“I told you to go to bed,” Bruce snapped, then turned his attention back to Tim, “and you,” he added, “I want you out of this cave. You’re benched.”

Tim startled at that, and finally raised his eyes to meet Bruce’s. Nothing but anger were in those eyes, and Tim shrank down at it, even as he said, “What?”

Bruce just shook his head as Tim devolved into a fit of coughing, then physically turned Tim toward the elevator and pushed a little, forcing him to start walking and leave the cave.

“But Bruce,” Tim pleaded as he was being led, “You can’t-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Bruce snapped, pressing the elevator call button for Tim, “this isn’t up for debate.” After the elevator dinged, Bruce turned back toward the cave and said, “Go to bed, Tim,” leaving Tim to get on the elevator and go to bed himself.

It was a miracle he managed to make it all the way to his room before any tears even made it into his eyes.

He wasn’t going to _cry_ over any of this. But even having to wipe at his eyes at all was embarrassing enough. Especially with Damian somewhere around here.

When he made it to his room, he threw his phone at the couch and collapsed on his bed, groaning as he did so. He didn’t get Alfred to look at his nose. It probably wasn’t broken, anyway. He had checked it himself.

Rubbing at his eyes, he tried to clear his vision, before he just gave up and buried his face in his pillow. He really wasn’t crying, but his eyes hadn’t gotten the memo and were producing too many tears. Stupid eyes.

Because Tim really didn’t _care_ if Bruce were disappointed in him. Why would he? Bruce was just his dad and mentor. And that. Pft. Yeah. Tim completely didn’t care.

“Dammit,” he swore, as he got up and went to the bathroom to blow his nose. Crying and his stupid cold were working against him and making it _impossible_ to breathe through his nose. And breathing through his mouth made his throat hurt all the more.

After rifling through his medicine cabinet, annoyed to find Alfred had confiscated his cold meds, _again,_ something about wanting to know what those in his care were taking… Tim settled on washing his face and drinking a glass of water before just crashing for the night. If he just fell asleep, he could ignore the misery he was in.

Although thinking about the misery he was in kept him from thinking about the disaster that had been patrol. And his case.

 _Ra’s Al Ghul_ behind it all.

Once he was back to 100%, he had quite the problem on his hands.

For now, though. Sleep.

Once Tim stepped out of his bathroom, though, all hopes of sleep died. Because standing in his bedroom, looking mildly uncomfortable but mostly arrogantly snide, stood Damian Wayne.

“Get out,” Tim said, flicking the light off in his bathroom before stomping over to his bed. Maybe if he just ignored the stupid brat he’d go away.

“No,” Damian said, his voice much flatter than Tim was expecting.

“Well then hurry up and call me an idiot,” Tim said, pulling his covers back so he could curl up under them, “and then go away.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, before picking up a glass of water and some medicine from a tray Tim hadn’t noticed before. A tray sitting on his bedside table. A tray with water, crackers, tea, and medicine sitting on it.

Narrowing his eyes, Tim sat on his bed and took the offered meds and water from Damian. “Is it poisoned?” he asked, attempting to sniff the medication, only to remember that his nose wasn’t working.

Damian rolled his eyes and picked up the bottle, showing it to Tim. “It’s sudafed,” he snapped, “Alfred gave it to me.”

Still suspicious, but too tempted by the offered relief, Tim downed the liquid, then washed down the awful flavor with the water. If Damian were trying to kill him, he actually didn’t care. It wasn’t that rock he wanted to die under, but it would work.

He was pretty sure Damian wouldn’t try to kill him, though. With Tim fallen from Bruce’s good graces, he probably had everything he wanted.

Once Tim handed the medicine cup and glass back to Damian, the brat poured a cup of tea and handed it to Tim, before pouring himself a cup and sitting on the edge of Tim’s bed.

Tim just glared at Damian. Or tried. He was too busy being absolutely confused, because what the hell was happening? The warmth coming from the cup was too tempting though, so Tim took a long sip of the tea and scooted himself back against his pillow, waiting for Damian to do whatever it is he was going to do.

Because why the heck did the demonbrat invite himself to a tea party with him? In his bedroom? On his bed?

Damian had actually never been in his bedroom, because Tim didn’t allow it. Didn't allow deranged little assassins near him like that.

“I will speak to Father,” Damain eventually said, after they’d sat in silence for far too long. Only a minute or two, but still far too long for Tim’s tastes. If he weren’t enjoying the tea so much he would have tried kicking Damian out again already.

“Why?” Tim asked skeptically, narrowing his eyes even as he held the teacup up to his face, allowing the steam from the tea to further decongest him.

“He is being unreasonable,” Damian said simply, waving his hand at Tim as he set his own teacup down. Normally, Tim would have been suspicious of the brat not drinking much of the tea, but he recognized the flavor of this tea as that special kind Alfred always made when they had bad colds. It wasn’t exactly one you wanted to drink otherwise.

“Grandfather has surprised Father many times in the past,” Damian continued, opening up a pack of crackers and offering them to Tim, “it is ridiculous for him to hold tonight against you when Father has fallen for traps like this in the past.”

Tim took the offered crackers and ate one as he let Damian’s words process. “Are you defending me?” he asked, incredulously, “What happened to me being suicidal?”

Damian shrugged, the discomfort Tim had picked up on earlier returning tenfold as the kid looked away and said, “I reviewed your case notes. I would have come to the same conclusion you did. Five henchmen. Easy night. Half an hour, at most.”

“But Jason,” Tim mumbled, setting the pack of crackers down to absently toy with the blanket beside him.

“Jason,” Damian said, picking up Tim’s thread without hesitation, “has more connections than you do. Than I do, in many cases. Especially in Gotham’s underworld. Father knows this. When he is done being blinded by his concern for your wellbeing, he will remember that fact and see reason, I am sure.”

“He benched me,” Tim said miserably, picking out another cracker to eat. These were actually his favorite when he was sick. Alfred usually forced saltines on them, but Tim much preferred ritz crackers. Either Damian felt the same way, or he was a creepy little stalker. Either way, Tim was appreciative.

“Yes,” Damian said, nodding, “as he should have. You are quite ill.”

“He was more serious than that,” Tim said between crackers, because they actually felt quite good on his throat, combined with the tea, “this was over messing up. Not being sick.”

Damian shrugged. “Father benches me weekly, at least. It never sticks.”

“What if it does?” Tim asked. He could continue on his own, without Batman’s approval, but it would be much more difficult. Having Bruce on his side just made life easier.

“Then I will make him see reason.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Tim demanded, back to scowling at Damian. He thought Damian would be thrilled by tonight’s events. Not up here _comforting_ him. If that’s what was going on.

Shrugging again, Damian said, “Father treated you unfairly. I felt you should know, before you allow his words to harm you more than necessary.”

“What?” Tim said, looking away from Damian, off toward the wall, in absolute confusion. And scorn. Because since when does _Damian Wayne_ care… “Since when do you care what _words_ do to me?”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, scowling now, “ _Father’s_ words have a different effect on you than most. Because he is that: _Father._ And he shouldn’t speak to you in such a manner.”

“But you can?” Tim asked, rolling his eyes.

“I am not your father,” Damian said simply.

“I thought Bruce wasn’t, either,” Tim said, still annoyed, “Isn’t that what you always tell me? I’m not part of this family?”

“Please, Drake, as if you ever actually listen to me. Father did, indeed, adopt you. Therefore you are his son, regardless of my feelings toward the matter.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said flatly, before taking one last sip of his tea, emptying the cup.

Damian took the cup from his hands and stood. After tidying up the tray, Damian stepped toward the door, then paused and looked back. “And just so you are aware,” he said, his voice a lot more uncertain than Tim had ever heard, “I am not against you being in this family.”

“Okay?” Tim said, giving Damian a ‘so what’ look. Because he was still lost and confused and a little unnerved by Damian. And being annoyed was the easiest reaction at his disposal.

Nodding once, Damian stepped outside the room and said, “Good talk, Timothy. Feel better.”

“Wait,” Tim said, causing Damian to pause and look back in the room at him, “Um thanks. For defending me. And the tea and stuff.”

“Of course. I am told it is what brothers are for.”

“Right,” Tim agreed, allowing himself to smile just slightly as Damian shut his bedroom door and left.

It was what brothers did. He just wasn’t aware he and Damian were brothers.

Tim figured it wouldn’t be so bad, if they were.

**Author's Note:**

> This actually went in a way different direction than I meant. It was supposed to be a whumptober prompt, because it's almost February and I'm STILL working my way through those.... but then I didn't even use the dialogue prompt from it so whatever. And Damian and Tim didn't get quite as brotherly as I wanted, but I think it worked out okay-ish. I picture this as the first actually decent exchange between them, initiated by Damian, so of course it's going to be not as huggy and great as it could be. 
> 
> In Bruce's defense, he's only being an asshole because he doesn't know how to say "I love you Tim, and you really scared me." After Damian chews him out, he apologizes to Tim in his Bruce-way. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com)


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